


D is for "Disposable"

by LeenWritesHere



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Angst, Gen, Near-Death Experience, Oneshot, Really not sure what to tag this agshahgf, Writing practice, Yes D-4692's name is Jamie though it isn't mentioned here, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-19 05:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20651942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeenWritesHere/pseuds/LeenWritesHere
Summary: No one really cares when a D-Class dies. Really, why should they? The "D" stands for "Disposable," after all.The only consequence of note when a D-Class dies is the extra paperwork added to some poor sap's workload. That's it.D-Class dies in experiment with SCP? Add that to the paperwork pile.D-Class gets killed by another D-Class? Well, that's a shame. Now go fill out this form.D-Class can't take it anymore and finally ends it all? Okay, then. Add that to the list.They truly are worth next to nothing, and they all know this.Some of them more accepting of it than others.





	D is for "Disposable"

* * *

D-4692 hugged his knees to his body, his chest heaving as he tried his best not to sob too loudly.

His back was pressed against the cold, concrete wall of his dormitory, and as hard as he tried not to make it show, everyone else in the room knew he was crying. No one bothered him about it though, since no one really cared about him to begin with.

Really, it was easier for everyone to deal with the possibility of their dormmates suddenly dying when they cared as little as possible about them- D-4692 included as one of those they couldn't care less about.

God... God, he hated this. He hated all of this! He hated every second he spent as a D-Class! He hated that no one cared! He hated that even if he himself tried caring, no one would give a shit! He didn't deserve any of this! He didn't-

D-4692 felt the painful impact of the back of his head against the wall and the shards of his broken glasses wedged in his face before realizing he had just been punched in the face.

"Shut the hell up." an older D-Class demanded, his clenched fist covered with D-4692's blood. He towered over D-4692, looking like he could easily kill at any moment if he wanted to. Given the reason most people were D-Classes, he probably had. 

"Wh-what?" D-4692 stammered, trying as hard as he could (and failing) to stop crying as he slowly came to the realization that he had said everything out loud.

"You heard me," the man hissed, his cold glare sending shivers down D-4692's spine. "You think you're special and don't deserve any of this just because the reason you're a D-Class is different than most of us? Well, news flash, you little brat, you're not. The only reason that you're still alive and haven't been terminated yet is because of sheer. Dumb. Luck."

"B-b-but-"

"I don't care that you're just some kid," the man cut him off. "You're a D-Class, just like the rest of us. So quit your whining, and just accept things."

With that and a final glare, the older man left the teen without another word, having said all he wanted to.

D-4692 sniffled, wiping the tears and blood away from his face as he sat in silence and tried to ignore everyone staring at him.

* * *

Everyone dreaded the end of the month.

Termination day was what one could consider most D-Class' worst nightmare.

You could never know which one would get chosen to be taken out of their dormitory and send to the termination chambers; with a few exceptions, the process was completely random.

* * *

"D-5973."

Everyone in the dormitory looked at the first selection. It was a middle-aged woman who didn't even resist when the guards called out her designation.

From what D-4692 had heard, she had been put on death row after being convicted of the murder of an elderly couple during a robbery gone wrong. She pleaded not guilty in court, saying that she desperately needed the money and knew that the couple was loaded.

The couple barely even had a penny to their name.

Nodding in defeat, the woman just sighed in resignation and stepped out of the line of D-Classes before walking to the guards at her own accord, accepting it when they cuffed her wrists and called out the next two selections. 

"D-1607."

The next selection was understandably a bit more hesitant. He was an old man who looked seventy or eighty-five, whose visible scars told the story of a man who had already been through so much, only to be condemned to death. 

A war veteran, if D-4692 wasn't wrong.  
The man had seen his fair share of battles, even losing his left eye and half of his right hand in one of them, but he eventually couldn't take fighting for his life everyday anymore, and left his post despite having years left to serve.

Unfortunately, his country was not one that viewed desertion as a crime one should be allowed to live for. 

At the mention of his designation, he stiffened and stayed where he was, apparently not expecting himself to be chosen for termination.

"D-1607," the guard repeated. He said nothing after that, but his tone of voice as he said those four numbers spoke volumes about how he expected the second selection to respond.

The veteran met the stone-faced guard with a hardened glare. He wasn't just going to give in and accept his death without some coercion, it seemed.

That coercion came in the form of the guard reaching for his taser and pulling it out, his threat loud and clear as a crackle of electricity sounded to compliment the blue sparks between the taser's probes.

"D-1607," he repeated for the third and final time, the crackle of electricity getting even louder as he upped the voltage.

D-1607 finally gave up, walking out of line towards the guards with his head down in defeat.

"Thank you for your compliance," the taser-wielding guard coldly thanked him over the click of the metal cuffs that were fastened around his wrists.

Everyone in the room was silent, barely even breathing as they mentally prepared themselves for what would come next.

It was time for the third and final selection. It could be anyone, no matter how long they were a D-Class, no matter how old they were- Termination selections didn't discriminate.

So, they all held their breaths in anticipation as the guards announced the final selection.

"Final selection.... D-4692."

D-4692 froze, his face blanching as his eyes widened. They.... They hadn't just called him, right? He- he just misheard.... Right?

"*_ahem_* I said D-4692," the guard repeated, scanning the line for the final selection.

Everyone's eyes bored into D-4692's skull. Huh, his luck had finally run out, it seemed. Finally, his time came.

The guard scanned the line of D-Classes until he finally laid eyes on D-4692.

"D-4692," he repeated once more when finally spotting him, slowly beginning to approach the teenager. "I would advise you to comply. Now, hold out your wrists." 

D-4692 shouldn't have hesitated. He shouldn't have flinched, turned his right foot ever so slightly to be able to quickly book it even though there was nowhere to run.

He shouldn't have tried to escape the inevitable, and that realization hit him just as the guard jabbed the taser in his side the second he tried to make a run for it.

D-4692 screamed in pain as he fell to the floor, feeling another jolt of electricity get shot through his body as the guard tasered him again. The handcuffs dug into the flesh of his wrists behind his back as the guard tasered him a third time, demanding that he stop resisting.

Still, D-4692 resisted. Despite the immeasurable pain he was in that would only increase if he continued to defy the guard's orders, he refused to give in. Not because of bravery, or defiance, or refusal to give the guard the satisfaction of winning.

It was out of _fear_.

Yet another scream escaped D-4692's throat as the guard pulled him up to his feet, yanking him up by the hair while ignoring how his broken glasses had fallen off his face in the struggle. 

The guard finally managed to pull him to the other two selections, but just before they exited the dormitory, D-4692 struggled against the guard's hold and desperately cried out a plea he knew wouldn't work, but was his only possible option.

"No! NO! Please! I don't want to die! I'm begging you! Please, please don't kill me!" 

The only response he got in return was another jab in the side with the taser.

* * *

He was going to die.

D-4692 felt the snot and tears run down his face as the doors of the chamber closed behind him. All around him were fellow D-Classes, whose reactions to their impending deaths ranged from being similar to D-4692's, to reciting prayers that hadn't been said in years, to screams and wails of terror or protest.

D-4692 knew what was coming next. 

The doors would be locked, and gas would fill up the entire room, forcing them all to breathe and slowly succumb to its effects.

It wouldn't be painless. It would hurt.

It would be one of the worst pains ever known to man; the burning sensation of the gas in their throats as they struggled to breath, until they either died of asphyxiation or the toxic effects of the gas.

Asphyxiation usually came first.

The doors were locked. It was happening. Finally, after years of being nothing but a disposable Guinea pig for the Foundation, D-4692 was going to die.

He was going to die in a way that would probably hurt far more than the SCPs he had encountered probably ever would.

At least when that one statue snapped your neck, it would only take a second. A quick, painless second that no one would be able to register when it happened to them.

This? This would take minutes, or an hour, at worst.

The doors were locked.

A pre-recorded voice spoke over the PA speaker.

"D-Class termination commencing."

The gas dispensers slowly came out of the walls.

"Gas dispensing in three... two... o-"

The voice stopped. 

Murmurs of confusion filled the room as the doors were unlocked and reopened. 

"D-4692," a guard called out from the outside. "Please step forward."

At first, D-4692 hesitated, not sure what the guards wanted. He turned his foot backwards, nearly making a run for it before remembering he wasn't back in the dormitory.

"D-4692," the guard repeated again. "Step forward."

D-4692 bit his lip and shook his head. What else could he do? Certainly not run away or anything of that sort.

He stepped forward and walked towards the guards, instinctively holding out his wrists for the handcuffs as he looked down the ground and mentally prepared himself for the worst. 

The handcuffs were a lot easier to tolerate on his skin when he wasn't resisting, D-4692 mentally noted.

"D-4692, your termination has been cancelled."

D-4692 looked up at him, his eyes wide as he said nothing but stuttered a small, "W-what?" in response.

"There was an error when the selections were being processed," the guard explained, taking him outside. "You see, when the selections were being processed, there was a small typo. Instead of you, D-4692, being selected, D-469_**3**_ was supposed to be selected."

The guard said it as a matter-of-factly, as though ignoring the fact that the wrong person had almost been condemned to their death, and focusing more on the technical error.

Everyone else who was still in the chamber protested loudly. If they were going to die, they thought that the kid should damn well die with them. Even if he was mistakenly selected, he was still selected to begin with. 

The guards chose not to respond to their yells, and even if there was a riot, then they'd just call someone in for some help. Easy. 

D-4692 watched as the guard nodded to another guard, who ushered a man, D-4693, with handcuffs through the doors of the chamber.

For but a moment, he and D-4692 made eye-contact.

It was the man from earlier who had told him to stop whining. He could see it. Even it was for just a second, D-4692 could see the burning hatred in his eyes that disappeared the moment the doors shut. 

As the guards began to escort D-4692 back to his dormitory, he heard the voice on the PA speaker talk again. 

"D-Class termination commencing."

* * *

D-4692 curled up in his bed, shaking under the covers and staring wide-eyed at the wall as he mentally processed everything that had happened during the last few hours of his life.

Four... Six... Nine... _Three. _The only reason he hadn't been killed... was because of a typo correction. A damn typo correction.

He shook his head, and closed his eyes, sniffling as he remembered that it didn't even matter if he died, as whether or not he had died, no one would even care.

D stood for disposable, after all.


End file.
